Montreal Spring

Thursday night we decided to go out on a date. We wanted to go to a movie, but we were saving that for dessert. We wanted something with a little more substance for dinner.

So, we packed a couple of our AEB Bánh Mì and we went to the Canadian Centre for Architecture to check out "Actions: What You Can Do With the City," an exhibition that features 99 actions intended to "instigate positive change in contemporary cities around the world."

This was our kind of exhibition: a topic we feel strongly about, and a massive--somewhat playful, somewhat haphazard--assortment of displays and artifacts.

We found inspiration at every turn, and we were happy to see that quite a number of the 99 actions turned on food-centric and food-related issues like urban gleaning and urban greening. There were things that we'd heard about, like New York City's Freegans (#12) and "Wildman" Steve Brill's foraging tours of Central Park (#23). But there were plenty of things that were new to us too.

Like the Fallen Fruit collective in Los Angeles (#9) who've mapped the city's vast number of publicly accessible fruit trees (orange, lemon, lime, kumquat, peach, plum, apple, and so on),

fig. a: fruit-hunting instruments, fruit maps of Los Angeles, etc.

and who host nocturnal fruit gathering excursions

fig. b: fruit-hunting foray

and jam-making parties (!).

And the Continuous Picnic project in London (#82),

fig. c: London lemon

which supports "low-intensity urban farming" and hosts a market and an endless picnic (!!), both of which serve to showcase the city's impressive biodiversity while encouraging its growth.

Hell, there were even some recipes on display, like Helen "Ladybird" Nodding's brilliant recipe (#56) for creating organic graffiti (suitable for what Nodding calls, "a quiet revolution" (!!!) out of moss (!!!!):

fig. d: life & death in London

1 can of beer
1/2 teaspoon sugar
Several clumps garden moss

You will also need a plastic container (with lid),
a blender and a paintbrush
_________________________________________________

To begin the recipe, first of all gather together several clumps of moss (moss can usually be found in moist, shady places) and crumble them into a blender. Then add the beer and sugar and blend just long enough to create a smooth, creamy consistency. Now pour the mixture into a plastic container.

Find a suitable damp and shady wall on to which you can apply your moss milkshake. Paint your chosen design onto the wall (either free-hand or using a stencil). If possible try to return to the area over the following weeks to ensure that the mixture is kept moist. Soon the bits of blended moss should begin to re-couperate into a whole rooted plant – maintaining your chosen design before eventually colonising the whole area.

[We haven't a chance to test Nodding's moss shake recipe yet, but we'll let you know when (and where) we do.]

fig. e: heaven & earth in Montreal

Anyway, the city looks different to us now, even more full of promise than it usually does.

"Actions: What You Can Do With the City," Canadian Centre for Architecture (1920 Rue Baile), through April 19, 2009

aj

AEB classics #65: Bánh Mì

March madness--all-Asian, all-month--continues...

Inspired by Andrea Nguyen's Into the Vietnamese Kitchen, and disappointed by the last several bánh mì (Vietnamese baguettes) we've paid money for here in Montreal, we've started making our own.

AEB Bánh Mì

one small baguette, one 7-inch section from a baguette, or one small torpedo-shaped roll*
mayonnaise, preferably homemade or Japanese
Maggi seasoning sauce and/or light soy sauce
2 Thai green chilies
boldly flavored meat, such as Char Siu pork (recipe follows), thinly sliced
4 thin, seeded cucumber strips, preferably Kirby, English, or Lebanese
2 or 3 sprigs cilantro, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup Vietnamese daikon and carrot pickle (recipe follows)

Slice the bread lengthwise, leaving it attached on the back side. Hollow out the inside of the bread, making a trough in each half. If the bread is soft, crisp it briefly in a 325º F oven, then let it cool before proceeding.

Muddle the green chilies in the Maggi seasoning and/or the light soy sauce.**

Spread a generous amount of mayonnaise on both halves of bread. Layer the pork, the cucumber, the pickle, the cilantro, and the chilies on the bottom half. Drizzle the Maggi seasoning and/or light soy sauce over top. Close the sandwich and enjoy thoroughly.

Vegetarians: replace the pork with some kind of boldly seasoned baked tofu.

Vegans: replace the pork with tofu (see above) and replace the mayonnaise with your favorite soy-based mock mayonnaise.

Char Siu Pork

2 1/3 pounds boneless pork shoulder, well trimmed (you should be left with about 2 pounds afterwards)

2 cloves garlic
2 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp Chinese five-spice powder
3 tbsp hoisin sauce
2 tbsp honey
1 1/2 tbsp Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry
2 tbsp light (regular) soy sauce
1 tbsp dark (black) soy sauce
2 tsp sesame oil

Quarter the pork lengthwise into strips about 6 inches long and 1 1/2 inches thick. If there are odd-size pieces, make sure they're of the same thickness.

To make the marinade, whisk together the garlic, sugar, five-spice powder, hoisin sauce, honey, wine, light and dark soy sauces, and sesame oil. Add the pork and use a spatula or tongs to coat evenly. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 6 to 8 hours, turning the pork 2 or 3 times.

Remove the pork from the refrigerator 45 minutes before cooking. Position a rack in the upper third of the oven and preheat to 475º F. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and place a flat roasting rack on the pan. Put the pork on the rack, spacing the pieces 1 inch apart. Reserve the marinade.

Roast the pork for 30-35 minutes, basting with the marinade every 10 minutes or so. To baste, use tongs to pick up each piece and roll it in the marinade before returning it to the rack, turning the pork over after each go. The pork is done when it looks glazed, is slightly charred, and most important, registers about 145º F on an instant-read thermometer. Remove from the oven.

Let the meat rest for 10 minutes to finish cooking and seal in the juices. Thinly slice the pork across the grain and serve warm or at room temperature. Or, let it cool completely, wrap it tightly in plastic wrap, and freeze it for up to 3 months. Andrea Nguyen claims that this pork reheats well in a microwave oven, but we wouldn't know.

Daikon and Carrot Pickle

1 large carrot, peeled and cut into thick matchsticks
1 pound daikons, each no larger than 2 inches in diameter, peeled and cut into matching thick matchsticks
1 tsp salt
2 tsp plus 1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 cups distilled white vinegar
1 cup lukewarm water

Place the carrot and daikons in a bowl and sprinkle with the salt and 2 teaspoons of the sugar. Use your hands to knead the vegetables for about 3 minutes, expelling as much water from them as possible. They will soften and liquid will pool at the bottom of the bowl. Stop kneading when you can bend a piece of daikon so that the ends touch but the daikon does not break. The vegetables should have lost about 1/4 of their volume. Drain in a colander and rinse under cold running water, then press gently to expel extra water. Return the vegetables to the bowl if you plan to eat them soon, or transfer them to a 1-quart jar for longer storage.

To make the brine, in a bowl, combine the 1/2 cup sugar, the vinegar, and the water and stir to dissolve the sugar. Pour over the vegetables. The brine should cover the vegetables. Let the vegetables marinate in the brine for at least 1 hour before eating. They will keep in the refrigerator for up to 4 weeks.

Note: sometimes the daikon develops a strong odor as it sits in the jar, one that could be safely described as "funky." This doesn't mean that the pickle has spoiled. Before serving it, open the jar and let it breathe for about 15 minutes to allow the odor to dissipate.

Perfect for almost any occasion: lunch, dinner, picnics, late-afternoon snacks--you name it. The char siu pork and the daikon and carrot pickle are phenomenal in the bánh mì, but they're also extremely versatile, and ideal as part of a simple rice bowl meal.

aj

* If you live here in Montreal, we recommend a Portuguese torpedo-shaped roll, and we recommend toasting it as per the directions above.

** We've made them with Maggi, with soy sauce, and with a combination of the two.

Hawaï 5-0

fig. a: I'm all lost in the supermarket

If you're going to go on a full-blown Asian kick, you need your sources. Local supermarkets may be carrying more and more Asian specialty items all the time (our local, the Greek-owned Supermarché P.A., being a perfect example of this trend), but you can't find things like Chinkiang vinegar, Thai crab paste, Chinese cooking wine, kecap manis, dried cloud ear mushrooms, and, our favorite, "seasoned lavers" (dried, super-tasty seaweed sheets that we like to call "the quicker picker-uppers") just anywhere. So it pays to know your Asian specialty stores. In our post on soto ayam back in January we mentioned a few places that come in handy when you're looking for things like kaffir lime leaves, lemon grass, and rice noodles, but we thought it might be useful if we made the list a little more official and expanded it somewhat.

The biggest, most impressive Asian market we've found thus far, and today's featured "Asian Market of the Day," is the place you see above: Hawaï. Not only does it have a great name, and beautiful décor,

fig. b: Hawaïan Tropic

but it's the biggest Asian market I've seen since the last time I was on the West Coast. How big? Take the picture up-top and multiply it by 10. No joke. And as you can tell from the bright yellow signs in the photograph, Hawaï prides itself on offering a complete range of Asian specialty products, from Chinese, Japanese, and Korean, to Thai, Cambodian, Vietnamese, Singaporean, Indonesian, Malaysian, Filipino, and so on.

Of course, Hawaï's also the most out-of-the-way place on our list, assuming you're based somewhere in Montreal's central core like we are, but it's absolutely worth the pilgrimage to Ville Saint-Laurent just for the beautiful packaging alone.

fig. c: MeriLin pickled cabbage

The management thought I was kinda funny because I was snapping pictures left and right, but I know a good thing when I see one.

Ville St-Laurent:

Marché Hawaï, 1999 Marcel-Laurin, 856-0226

fig. d: Kien Xuong vs. the Green Men

Chinatown:

Kien Vinh, 1062-1066 St-Laurent, 393-9030--Asian grocery

Heng Heng Chanchaya, 1075 St-Laurent, 861-4550--Asian grocery

Kien Xuong, 1076 St-Laurent, 866-0941--Asian grocery--quite possibly Kien Vinh's sister store

Marché Pap Pap, 1025 St-Laurent, 878-8080--Asian candy store

Plateau:

Eden, 3575 Avenue du Parc, suite 4115, 843-4443--Asian grocery store (and a good place to pick up a chocolate bar before you go to the Cinéma du Parc)

Sakaris, 4393 St-Laurent, 844-5143--Portuguese grocery that still carries all your Portuguese staples, but which has gone seriously Asian over the last couple of years

Jean-Talon:

La Dépense, 7070 Henri-Julien (at Jean-Talon Market), 273-1118--world specialty food shop with a particularly strong selection of Asian items

Olives et Épices, 7070 Henri Julien (at Jean-Talon Market), 271-0001--Montreal's (North America's?) best spice shop is a fantastic source for harder-to-find Asian spices and higher-quality versions of Asian spice staples (like their killer Imperial Sichuan pepper)

Marché Oriental St-Denis, 7101 St-Denis, 271-7878--Asian grocery store

Thai Hour, 7130 St-Denis, 271-4469--Asian grocery store

This is by no means a definitive list. These are just some of the places we've frequented over the years.

Got your own favorites? Drop us a line and tell us about 'em.

aj

more soul for the chicken soup

As you may remember, January saw us heroically trying to stave off the common cold with a particularly tasty preemptive strike: soto ayam. What we didn't tell you, and what I now realize was largely unapparent from January's posts, was that at the time we were in the midst of a full-blown Asian kick prompted by a handful of recent acquisitions:

a) a copy of Andrea Nguyen's Into the Vietnamese Kitchen: Treasured Foodways, Modern Flavors
b) a copy of Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid's Mangoes and Curry Leaves: Culinary Travels Through the Great Subcontinent
c) a copy of Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid's Seductions of Rice
and
d) a rice cooker*

This full-blown Asian kick only lasted a few weeks before we started to drift back into more familiar terrain--like Italian, Hungarian, French, and Mexican--but it did result in a number of outstanding meals. So earlier this month, when we suddenly realized how far we'd strayed, we took a pledge: all Asian, all month. You can expect to hear about all the highlights of our own culinary travels in the very near future, but in the meantime, here's a recipe that's a great follow-up to the soto ayam, one that doesn't pack the same spicy punch, but is also an ideal late-winter cure-all.

It's a rice soup with chicken, seafood, and mushrooms, and it's based closely on a recipe (Cháo Bôi) in Andrea Nguyen's truly inspiring Into the Vietnamese Kitchen. Nguyen's original calls for dried wood ear mushrooms, but we didn't have any of those, so we replaced them with fresh shiitakes, which have become readily available here in Montreal in recent years, so much so that we can get them at our local supermarket for the same price as your standard white mushrooms. The recipe also calls for crab. We recommend using fresh Quebec snow crab, whose short but sweet season has just begun. Half a snow crab will provide you with more than enough crab for the soup--any extra you can use to treat your cats.

Michelle still loves the soto ayam the best because of its sensory overload, but, if you ask me, this delicate little gem is easily its equal.

fig. a: before

Rice Soup with Chicken, Seafood, and Mushrooms

1 boneless, skinless chicken breast, about 1/4 lb
1 cup long-grain white rice
3 quarts homemade chicken stock**
8-10 fresh shiitake mushrooms, stemmed and sliced
2 tbsp canola oil
1 small onion, thinly sliced
1/4 cup Chinese cooking wine or dry sherry
1/2 pound medium shrimp, peeled and halved horizontally
1/3 cup freshly picked crabmeat
1/4 cup small tapioca pearls
salt
1/3 cup chopped scallion, both white and green parts
1/3 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro

Fill a 5-quart saucepan half full with water. Bring the water to a rolling boil over high heat and add the chicken breast. Remove the pot from the heat and cover tightly, letting the pot stand for 20 minutes in order to gently poach the chicken. After 20 minutes, the chicken should be firm to the touch yet still yield a bit. Remove the chicken from the pan, leaving the water in. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, shred it by hand and set aside.

Return the water to a boil and add the rice. Parboil the rice for 8 minutes. Drain in a colander and rinse with cold water. Set aside.

In the same pan, bring the stock to a boil over high heat. Add the rice and chicken, lower the heat to a gentle simmer, and cook for 10 minutes, or until the rice expands.

Meanwhile, in a skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook gently, stirring from time to time, for about 4 minutes, or until fragrant and soft. Add the shiitake mushrooms and sauté for another 2 minutes. Add the Chinese cooking wine or sherry and cook until it evaporates. Add the shrimp and sauté for about 3-4 minutes, until they curl into corkscrews. Add the crabmeat and stir to distribute. Remove from the heat and set aside.

To prevent the tapioca pearls from clumping on contact with the hot soup, put them in a sieve and rinse briefly under cold water. When the rice has expanded in the soup, add the tapioca pearls and cook for another 10 minutes. The tapioca pearls will expand and become translucent. At that point, add the seafood and mushroom mixture, heat through, and adjust with salt, if necessary.

Ladle into individual bowls and top with scallions and cilantro. Serve immediately.

Serves 4 to 6 as a highly nutritious one-bowl meal.

fig. b: after

Good to the last drop!

aj

* We realize that getting a rice cooker and a copy of Seductions of Rice back-to-back is a bit odd, given Alford and Duguid's insistence on time-honored ways. We still love making rice the traditional way for ourselves, but we also like our rice cooker, especially for dinner parties.

** We made ours with a couple of leftover chicken carcasses, two onions, four cloves of garlic, a couple of hunks of ginger, half a daikon, five stalks of celery, four carrots, the shiitake mushroom stems (see above), salt, pepper, and a teaspoon of five spice. It only took about 45 minutes to make and it made a huge difference.

Special Edition Mac & Cheese Pancakes, rev. ed.

Remember when we made Kenny Shopsin's lemon-ricotta pancakes a few months back? At the time I noted that we had found the recipe in the New York Times Magazine alongside Shopsin's infinitely more delirious Mac & Cheese Pancakes, but when it came time to choose, "it really wasn't much of a decision" because we had farm-fresh ricotta on-hand. What I didn't mention was that at the time, we couldn't for the life of us imagine what the taste and textural qualities of Mac & Cheese Pancakes might be like. We certainly were intrigued, though. So intrigued, in fact, that when we got back home, we made picking up a copy of Shopsin's Eat Me: The Food and Philosophy of Kenny Shopsin a top priority. Not because we needed the Mac & Cheese Pancakes recipe--it was right there in black & white in the New York Times Magazine--but because we wanted to further acquaint ourselves with the philosophy behind the Mac & Cheese Pancakes and the rest of Kenny Shopsin's ridiculously huge and hilariously inventive repertoire. And if we happened to learn the origin of the Mac & Cheese Pancake, all the better.*

fig. a: before

fig. b: after (accidents will happen)

Not only is Eat Me one of the best-looking cookbooks we've seen in quite some time (maybe ever), but it's been one of our absolute favorite reads of the last few months, and, perhaps not surprisingly, Shopsin's Mac & Cheese Pancakes were among the very first recipes that we tried out. All I can say is that--I admit it--I was a little skeptical about the Mac & Cheese Pancakes, but now, when I think of pancakes, I think of these first. I'm not even kidding. And I don't care if it's Lent and to even dream about these pancakes amounts to impure thoughts. Just mention the word "pancake" and these are all I see.

The funny thing is, the first time we made them, we read the recipe in Eat Me carefully, but somehow, unconsciously, we ended up making them not as the recipe actually instructed, but as we imagined they'd be made. [Later, I was reminded of a story: In describing Kenny's Egyptian Burrito, Calvin Trillin once wrote: "An Egyptian Burrito is a burrito, and inside is sort of what Kenny thinks Egyptians might eat."] You see, Kenny's original recipe calls for cooked elbow macaroni tossed with olive oil, with the cheddar cheese added separately. We, on the other hand, began with a pretty deluxe batch of leftover mac & cheese. Anyway, this was totally accidental, but our Mac & Cheese Pancakes ended up being at least twice as cheesy as Shopsin's, and quite a bit more savory. Problem? I don't think so. Having now read Eat Me, we know all too well what Kenny thinks of bacon in pancakes. We have a feeling he'd give his blessing to our Special Edition Mac & Cheese Pancakes.

What you need:

fig. c: leftover mac & cheese

1. leftover macaroni & cheese, preferably leftovers from a batch of E & D Special Mac & Cheese.

fig. d: pancake batter

2. pancake batter, such as this one:

Pancake Batter

7 tablespoons butter
1 1/3 cups whole milk
3 large eggs
1 1/4 cups flour
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon plus 2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt.

In a saucepan over medium-low heat, heat the butter and milk until the butter melts. Set aside until lukewarm. Beat the eggs in a medium bowl. Slowly pour 1/2 cup of the warm milk mixture into the eggs while stirring. Stir in the remaining milk mixture.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Pour the egg mixture into the flour mixture, a little at a time, stirring slowly, just until the dry ingredients are moistened. The batter should be lumpy and will start to bubble.

Makes about 3 1/2 cups.

fig. e: cheddar cheese

3. a block of medium-sharp cheddar cheese

What you need to know:

Special Edition Mac & Cheese Pancakes**

butter for the skillet and for serving
3 cups pancake batter
1 heaping cup macaroni & cheese, preferably E & D Special Mac & Cheese, at room temperature
1 heaping cup grated cheddar cheese
medium Grade A (or B--Kenny prefers B) maple syrup

Heat your skillet over medium heat. When it's hot, add the butter and run it across the skillet surface, then use a small ladle to pour the batter on the skillet. When small bubbles cover 40-50% of the surface of your pancakes (after about 2 minutes), drop about 1 tablespoon of the mac & cheese on each pancake, and then, as if that wasn't enough, sprinkle a layer of cheddar on top, before using a thin spatula to quickly and artfully flip the pancakes. Turn the heat down a little, use the spatula to press down on the pancakes a bit, and when the undersides are golden, about 2 minutes later, use the spatula to transfer the pancakes to a plate, mac & cheese & cheese side up.

Serve with butter and maple syrup. Makes roughly 12 4-inch pancakes.

[inspired by Kenny Shopsin's Mac n Cheese Pancakes, Eat Me]

If all goes well they should look something like this:

fig. f: the finished product

And they should taste outrageously good. You see, our E & D Special Mac & Cheese has a copious amount of thick-cut bacon in it, so what you end up with is a Mac & Cheese Pancake with bacon built right into it. Then, with a knob of butter and a little maple syrup... As Kenny might say: "It's really very sexy."

aj

* We did: it was a dish specially invented for a regular customer who only ever ordered one of two dishes at Shopsin's, the mac & cheese or the pancakes, and who one day asked Kenny to decide which he should have.

** Now with extra cheese!

Notes From the Underground, rev. ed.

In a province like ours, where cretons, ragoût de pattes de cochon, fèves au lard, and oreilles de crisse are a way of life, one wouldn't exactly think you'd need a Pork Underground. After all, Quebec's not exactly Saudi Arabia. Occasionally, some Quebeckers have been known to haul in specialty pork products unavailable in la belle province from across the border, but not because there's some kind of taboo on pork or because pork is scarce in these here parts.

On the other hand, maybe it's precisely in a region as pork-obsessed (and therefore strangely undiscriminating about the quality of the pork being ingested a lot of the time) as Quebec that one would expect to find a cell of ultra-loyalists, a pocket of devotees committed to the idea of taking the love of pork (porcophilia?) to its logical extreme. Hence places like Au Pied de Cochon

fig. a: this little piggy...

with its signature stuffed pied de cochon. Hence the Pork Underground.

Goodness knows why, but for some reason Michelle and I were invited to take part in a Pork Underground event a couple of weeks back. This being more than just an innocent pig-pickin', the invitation came with a set of conditions:

1. we were required to wear at least one pink garment, preferably one adorning one's torso
2. we were required to bring one pork icon, and it was indicated to us that we could be rather liberal in our interpretation of the term "pork icon"
3. we were required to bring one bottle of wine per person--to go along with the food, of course, but also, perhaps, to help induce the "French paradox"

Now, I'm a little short on pink garments. Not because I'm too gars-gars for pink, or something. I had a pink polo shirt that I either shrunk or outgrew (I prefer to think it was the first option) about a year ago, and a couple of years back I sold my limited-edition pink 1994 Palace Brothers t-shirt in a garage sale to some lucky customer. So I broke rule #1. Flagrantly. I wore a gray button-down shirt and claimed that I was "well-done." Michelle wore her trademark pink hoodie (naturally), so she was fine. Somehow we both got let in.

Michelle gave the pork icon a little thought and came up with the obvious answer: a pork-themed crossword puzzle. (?)

fig. b: Michelle's (largely) pork-themed crossword puzzle

[Be kind. This was her very first crossword puzzle. Why she chose to make one for this particular occasion, neither of us will ever know. One would have thought that, given her skill set, she might have concocted some kind of pork-related dessert or pastry (like a good old-fashioned pie with a good old-fashioned lard-based crust), but, no, it turns out she's a frustrated puzzle maker. Who knew?]

I, on the other hand, brought a line drawing of Tenderflake brand 100% pure lard that I'd turned into postcards. (??)

fig. c: 100% pure lard

We also brought along a hunk of Col. Newsom's country ham for good measure (and just in case my grey shirt and/or my grey postcards didn't fly with the management).

fig. d: old no. 301

We we had no problems whatsoever fulfilling the wine requirement.

So what does one do at a Pork Underground meeting? Well, pretty much exactly what you do at any other dinner party, with the addition of a round-table session where each and every member of the underground presents her/his "pork icon" to the assembly (these ranged from pork poems [2 of 'em!] to porcine salt & pepper shakers), as well as a much higher-than-average amount of spontaneous, fully improvised pork talk.

And, yes, as you might have guessed, the menu featured a great deal of pork, including such delicacies as:

a rustic pork terrine
a luscious cabbage soup with pork belly
a supremely succulent pork roast served with mashed potatoes

Having a hard time believing any of this? Check out the full coverage in last Friday's National Post here. Seriously.

Who knows how the National Post managed to infiltrate our cell,

fig. e: the best in the biz

but there you have it.

Wish you had a Pork Underground in your hometown? Start your own. It's as easy as 1*-2**-3***.

aj

* 1. quality pork products
** 2. quality pork recipes
*** 3. hard-core pork lovers (preferably ones with a bit of a sense of humor)

ps I--TY to BK for founding and hosting.
ps II--if you'd like the key to Michelle's crossword or if you'd like us to send you a "100% pure lard" postcard, drop us a line.

Top Ten #28

fig. a: Witchies: now I know how Joan of Arc felt

1. Witchies, s/t E.P.

2. In a Lonely Place, dir. Ray

3. moules à la bonne humeur

fig. b: Tapestry: made in Canada

4. Tapestry, Down By Maple River

5. The Wrestler, dir. Aronofsky

6. M.F.K. Fisher, As They Were

7. soto ayam

fig. c: self-explanatory

8. Andrea Nguyen, Into the Vietnamese Kitchen: Treasured Foodways, Modern Flavors

fig. d: Setsuko Hara/Noriko

9. Tokyo Story, dir. Ozu + Tokyo-Ga, dir. Wenders

10. Cuisine Mas

Black Gold

fig. a: Brussels in December

Late last year, I found myself back in Brussels. This time around I was sans Michelle, I was working long-ish days, and, it being December, the city had a very different feel to it. Gone were the long, largely improvised strolls back and forth across the city in search of little treasures of all sorts--cultural, gastronomic, and otherwise. Gone were the long hours of daylight and the mild temperatures. In July we'd only been in Brussels for two or three days, but it had seemed like a week of adventures. Probably had something to do with the fact that we ate about a week's worth of food.

Anyway, I still made some discoveries on this latest trip to Belgium,

fig. b: discovery 1

fig. c: discovery 2

fig. d: discovery 3

but the only true culinary coup came on night #2--and it was a good one. In fact, it was one of my best meals of the year.*

From the outside, with a slow shutter speed, it looked something like this.

fig. e: La Bonne Humeur

The window ("specialité de moules") and that gunnysack behind it said it all: this was a serious mussels establishment. So serious, in fact, that they only serve mussels in season--which is why Michelle and I ate not a single, solitary mussel during our summer vacation.

The place was called La Bonne Humeur, and it was located east of the city center along Chaussée de Louvain. It was a bit of a haul from my hotel in Schaarbeek, and the night I chose to go it was absolutely raw out--cold, drizzling rain, windy--but the combination of the walk and the weather sure worked up an appetite. In spite of the weather, La Bonne Humeur looked cheery and inviting from the outside, and inside it was warm and friendly. Just the name alone ("the good humor") was enough to begin restoring my spirits--the combination of the atmosphere and the heady aromas quite nearly completed the task.

By the time I sat down, there was just about nothing I wanted more than a steaming cauldron of moules and the good people at La Bonne Humeur were happy to oblige. By the kilo. That's right, the standard portion of mussels at La Bonne Humeur is a healthy 2.2 pounds of the plumpest, juiciest Dutch mussels (from Zeeland, naturally) you could possibly imagine. I loved the way they served them too: heaped in a heavy, enameled cast-iron cauldron (in other words, as they should be), with plenty of celery and fennel, and plenty of broth. Their frites were good, too. Not quite Frites Flagey-good, but fresh, crisp, and piping hot, and served with a tangy homemade mayonnaise. With a cold beer and The New Yorker's Food Issue at my side, this was pretty much my ideal businessman's dinner.

So I came back to Montreal raving. But the thing is, I could sense reluctance on Michelle's part. I kept saying how much I wanted to try and replicate my feast at La Bonne Humeur, and she kept saying, "uh, huh." So I pressed her on the matter and it turned out she liked mussels, but she'd never had a plate of mussels that she'd ever loved. "Never?," I asked. "Never."

Well, those days are gone. When I finally got Michelle to agree to let me make my La Bonne Humeur special for her with the plumpest, juiciest P.E.I. mussels I could find, she changed her tune. Now I have carte blanche to make them whenever I want. And the thing about mussels is: they're so affordable. When was the last time you bought over 4 pounds of Grade A seafood and the cost came in under $10? Thought so.

Now, I don't have La Bonne Humeur's actual recipe, but with the help of a few friends, like Richard Olney and Julia Child, I was able to get close.

fig. f: mussels soaking in brine

Moules à La Bonne Humeur

4-4 1/2 lbs fresh mussels, scrubbed, then soaked in salt water for 15 to 20 minutes prior to cooking
1/2 cup minced shallots, green onions, or finely minced onions
4 stalks celery, 2 cut into 3-4" lengths, 2 finely chopped
1/2 bulb fennel, thinly sliced
1 leek, cleaned, and finely chopped
6 tbsp butter
2 cups dry white wine
generous handful of parsley, chopped or whole
1 bay leaf
1/4-1/2 tsp fresh thyme
freshly ground black pepper

As noted (and pictured) above, make sure to soak the mussels in briny salt water for 15-20 minutes prior to cooking.

Meanwhile, in a large pot or, preferably, a large enameled cast-iron cauldron, heat one tablespoon of the butter over medium heat. Add the shallots (or onions) and sauté until softened and sweet, 5-10 minutes. Add the finely chopped celery, the fennel, and the leek and sauté for 5 minutes more. Add the wine, the remainder of the butter, the celery lengths, the parsley, the bay leaf, the thyme, and the black pepper, bring the wine to a boil, and reduce for 2-3 minutes.

Add the mussels. Cover tightly and boil over high heat, shaking and tossing the contents (while holding the lid firmly in place) from time to time over a period of 3-5 minutes (and up to 10 minutes). The vast majority of the mussels shells should have opened.

Give the mussels another healthy grind of black pepper and serve heaped in bowls with plenty of the broth ladled over.

We didn't have an enameled chaudron large enough to cook 2 kg of mussels, so we made ours in a large pot. Our largest enameled chaudron was just large enough to serve our big, beautiful batch of mussels, however, so that's exactly what we did.

Serves two.

fig. g: moules à La Bonne Humeur

Note: common wisdom says to discard any and all mussels that haven't opened after the required cooking time. However, both Richard Olney and John Bil (formerly of Montreal's Joe Beef, and currently with New York's Flex Mussels) recommend using good old-fashioned common sense. Open the culprit with a knife, take a good look. If it looks fine and smells fine, it probably is fine. In fact, Olney insists that the ones that need to be forced open with a knife (after adequate cooking time, of course) "are often the best."

"What about the frites," you say? Well, we didn't make actual Belgian-style frites, but we used our current #1 roasted potato recipe and came up with a substitute that was perfectly acceptable and downright delicious. The recipe goes something like this...

Zuni Café Roasted Potatoes

1 1/2 pounds yellow-fleshed potatoes, peeled or not, cut into irregular 1- to 1 1/2-inch chunks
salt
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Preheat the oven to 400º F.

Place the potatoes in a 4-quart saucepan and add cold water to cover by a few inches. Salt the water liberally, stir to dissolve, and taste--it should be well seasoned. (Judy Rodgers recommends "a scant 1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt per quart water.") Bring to a simmer over high heat and stir again, then reduce the heat so that it just holds the simmer. Cook until the potatoes are soft on the edges and tender inside, about 6-12 minutes, depending on the potato and the size of your chunks (generally, 10 minutes is ideal for us). Drain well. Taste. The potatoes should be perfectly seasoned and tasty already. Place in a bowl while still warm.

Add the olive oil and toss to coat. Don't worry if some of the slightly overcooked potatoes crumble a bit. Those bits will end up becoming heavily coveted crunchy bits when the roasting is done.

Transfer the potatoes and their oil (and any potato bits) to a roasting pan that is both wide and shallow. Roast until golden, rotating the pan and stirring the potatoes as needed so that they color evenly. Judy Rodgers recommends 20-25 minutes, but we've found that to get the potatoes to the state of perfection, it takes a good 45-60 minutes.

Once the potatoes are perfectly golden-brown and crispy, they'll hold well (according to Judy Rodgers, they may even improve) at 275º F, making this recipe ideal as a roasted potato recipe for dinner parties and large groups.

We found that they were also pretty choice with our moules, especially with mayonnaise (preferably homemade) mixed with a dollop of strong mustard.

Serves 4 as a side.

[based very closely on Judy Rodgers' Rosemary-Roasted Potatoes (her original throws "bruised" rosemary leaves into the mix) from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook]

Serve the two recipes above with a nice green salad and a fine beer or crisp white wine. Even non-believers will see the light. Even the ill-humored will suddenly discover good humor.

Or, when in Brussels:
La Bonne Humeur, 244 Chaussée de Louvain, 1000 Brussels

aj

ps--many thanks to Clotilde for the tip.

* Sorry, Michelle.

A Tonic for Modern Life

fig. a: the new, improved G & T in the making

Ever thought to yourself, "What's the point of using a premium gin in a G & T if I'm just going to end up killing all those intricate aromatic notes with a nasty high-fructose 'tonic' water?"

Yeah, I know: we haven't either. Not in so many words, anyway. We've often longed for a better take on tonic water. We've also refused to give up on the dream of a true G & T, one whose tonic water had enough character to stand up to a premium gin, and none of that unnecessary soda pop business.

Well, we're happy to report that Montreal has taken another small step towards joining Cocktail Planet, because now there's an artisanal tonic water available at some of the city's chicest bars and a handful of its savvier retail establishments. The tonic water in question? Q Tonic. Not too sweet, not too carbonated, not affiliated with CBC radio in any way (it actually hails from Brooklyn), made with hand-picked quinine from the Peruvian Andes (tonic water's ancestral homeland), and sweetened only with the subtle, mellow flavor of organic agave. Seriously. Pretty bottles, too. Most importantly, it tastes great and marries well with your better gins.*

We've been believers in the medicinal powers of quinine for some time, but our rule concerning gin & tonics used to be something like the rule bluebloods apply to short pants: only between Memorial Day and Labor Day (or Victoria Day and Labour Day, depending on the context), with exceptions made for freak heat waves and travel made to warmer climes. We're anxious for spring and summer, of course, but with a new tonic water in town, and your common cold being a much more serious threat here in Montreal than, say, malaria, we see no reason not to put our new, improved G & T to work immediately.

Where can you buy Q Tonic? Our local boucherie, Chez Vito, carries Q Tonic in two sizes. Small single-use bottles are $2.50 each, while the larger, more economical bottles are $7.99--perfect for parties. It ain't cheap, but it sure tastes good.

Ask for it around town.

am/km

* or better vodkas, if that's your poison.

WTGN: Montreal

fig. a: inside

We were pretty excited to receive our February 2009 issue of Food & Wine today. Kitchens? Love 'em. Comfort food? Who can argue with comfort food, right? We certainly can't. Winter? Yeah, we know a little about that. I mean, this is the view outside the window as I write:

fig. b: outside

(And you wonder why we're so fixated on comfort food?)

Now, we haven't had a chance to try out any of the recipes yet, but we also knew a little about the content of this month's issue.

fig. c: "Where to Go Next: Montreal"

You see, there's a short piece in there called "Where To Go Next: Montreal" which offers 11 tips on where to find some of Montreal's most tantalizingly tasty eats (including AEB's 2008 Restaurant of the Year, La Salle à Manger), and we can honestly say that we stand behind each and every suggestion.

Look for the issue at your nearest newsstand, or find it online here and here.

Oh, one more thing: if you want to wait until after the thaw to pay our fair city a visit, we fully understand, but those of us who live here know that much of Montreal's cuisine tastes all the better in the dead of winter. Seriously.

aj